


Underneath a Winter's Sky

by PhiraLovesLoki



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, High School, Homecoming, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Prom, Serendipity - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 18:30:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9136291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhiraLovesLoki/pseuds/PhiraLovesLoki
Summary: Emma Swan is used to being an outsider. The last thing she needs is to get noticed at a school dance. Too bad Killian Jones seems intent on noticing her.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [swankkat (solitarystroll)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitarystroll/gifts).



> This fic is a gift for @swankkat; I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long, and I hope you like it! Happy New Year!!
> 
> The song featured in this fic is "A Winter's Sky" by the Pipettes; it's very lovely and I highly recommend listening to it.
> 
> Thank you to @caprelloidea for beta-reading!

Emma hated  _ fitting in, _ but it was the price she had to pay to stay with the Smiths. They probably weren’t going to ever formally adopt her, since she was so close to aging out of the system. But they did seem to care about her well-being, and if she wanted to stay with them until she graduated and turned eighteen, she needed to meet their expectations.

And for some reason, they expected her to do regular high school kid shit.

She had to join a club and she had to play a sport. She had to take the SAT even though she wasn’t going to college (seriously—who was gonna pay for it?). They expected her to make honor roll, and when she wasn’t, they actually got her a math tutor.

And they expected her to go to the big Homecoming Dance.

It wasn’t even like they were trying to convince her to go. They just  _ expected _ her to. If they weren’t such good foster parents, she might have been able to hate them for it.

Hadn’t they noticed that she never spent any time with friends? That she was never invited to do anything with classmates? That she never went on dates?

She didn’t fit in, and going to the dance was just going to rub that in.

People weren’t overtly mean to her or anything. But when she showed up sophomore year, an obvious foster kid whose clothes were out of style and oversized, people avoided her, figuring she was weird or that she’d just leave soon anyway. And Emma thought she’d leave soon, too; she always did. She  _ still _ might; high school wasn’t over yet. So what was the point of trying to make friends?

Even in yearbook and track, while people were friendly to her, she could tell they were just being nice, but not really interested. And she was fine with that. Mostly. But she’d never had friends before anyway, so it wasn’t like she’d lost something.

The only person at school she’d ever really gotten to know to any extent was her tutor, but even then, he’d just been tutor, not a  _ friend _ . In fact, she wished she’d never met him at all, given that he was really  _ nice _ and  _ funny _ and  _ cute _ and she’d developed an unrequited crush on him. Thankfully, her grades had picked up, so she hadn’t needed him anymore. And since he was a year ahead of her, he wasn’t in any of her classes, so she never had to embarrass herself by actually seeing him.

So, she had no friends and no date. What was even the  _ point _ of going to Homecoming?

But the Smiths had insisted.

So one Saturday in October, Emma found herself curling her hair and putting on her dress and shoes. The dress, much like the rest of her clothing, had been thrifted, and the shoes, which were a little too tight and didn’t quite go with the dress, were borrowed from her foster mom.

As a treat to herself for having to go through this miserable experience, Emma had spent her meager allowance money at the mall earlier that day. She found a cute, cheap jewelry set at Claire’s, and she picked up some lipstick and mascara from the drugstore. She didn’t have quite enough for both the mascara and the eyeliner she’d wanted. Maybe one day, she could have both.

When she was finished getting ready, the Smiths oohed and aahed, took some embarrassing photos, and dropped her off at the high school. She followed the colorful signs and decorations to the gym, handed in her ticket to the chaperones manning the table at the front, and drifted inside to where the dance was underway.

She just had to wait things out until the Smiths came to pick her up at eleven. She grabbed a plastic cup of overly-sugary punch and sat down at an empty table along the sidelines so she could watch everyone else have fun.

And boy, were they all having fun. Half of the other kids were definitely drunk, especially the seniors; she spotted tons of them passing flasks around and they’d probably pregamed, too. And most of the girls were twirling around and grinding, wearing stylish, expensive,  _ new _ dresses.

Emma wasn’t all that into fashion, not just because she couldn’t afford to be into it, but it still stung to see all of her classmates having such a good time, oblivious to what it felt like to show up in something from Goodwill.

She plucked at the plum-colored fabric of her skirt. It wasn’t a  _ horrible _ dress. It wasn’t exactly what she would have picked out for herself, but it fit and it was flattering, and it didn’t smell like thrift store. But it was hard to watch the popular girls, in their designer dresses, floating around like royalty.

God, she was going to be sick. She should have pretend to have the flu or something; there were easy enough ways to fake a fever and she hadn’t pulled that particular trick with the Smiths yet.

“I didn’t know you were coming tonight,” said a familiar voice.

Her heart skipped a beat like she was in some YA romance novel. Killian Jones, football star, senior heartthrob, and former math tutor dropped into the chair beside her.

“Oh, hi.” She was pretty sure her blush was visible, and she wanted to disappear into the floor. She hadn’t seen him since her last tutoring session back in June.

“How’ve you been?” he asked. “How was your summer?”

“I’m okay. It was okay.” Oh god, why was he even  _ talking  _ to her?

He raised an eyebrow. “Okay?” he asked skeptically. “Did you end up finding a summer job?”

“Uh, yeah, I did paperwork at my foster dad’s office.” Oh god, why was he talking to her?

“That sounds … well, hopefully it was fun,” he said.

It hadn’t been. “It was fine. How about you?”

He shrugged. “My mum wanted me to pick colleges, but I’m hoping to join the Navy once I graduate, so I don’t know what the point is.”

“Why the Navy?”

“My older brother joined when he graduated. Loves it.”

“No, I mean … aren’t you British?”

He chuckled. “Aye, although I have dual citizenship thanks to my dad. Mum only moved us out here a few years ago, when I was a freshman and Liam was a senior. Hence the accents.”

“Gotcha.”

“Maths going all right so far?”

“Uh huh.”

“I thought so. I don’t really have that much time to tutor until the season is over, but your mum didn’t call, so—sorry, foster mum.” He smiled apologetically, remembering how she’d reacted the first time he’d referred to the Smiths as her parents instead of her foster parents.

“Yeah, no, it’s fine.”

“Who do you have?”

“Hopper.”

“Oh, that’s good.”

“Yeah.”

“And how’s history?”

“Killian, why are you talking to me?”

He blinked at her in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“Cut the crap, okay? You’re, you know … popular, and I’m … well, I’m me.”

“Can’t I  _ want _ to talk to you?”

“I … guess? What about your friends?”

He chuckled. “I am  _ sure _ they will survive even without my constant attention, though it’s quite kind of you to be so considerate regarding their well-being.”

“No, I meant—”

“I know what you meant.”

Awkward silence fell. Well, awkward silence fell between  _ them, _ while the music kept playing, and the gymnasium was filled with chatting and laughing and singing and shouting.

“I like this song,” he said suddenly, once the music changed from high energy hip hop to what honestly sounded like fifties pop.

“I don’t even know this song,” she admitted.

“Obscure band from home. Liam got me into them.”

“Weird that they’d have a song from an obscure band.”

“Aye.” He stood up from the table, and although she was a little disappointed, she was a little relieved. What else was she going to talk about with the most popular boy in school?

But then he held out his hand. “Come on, love. Why don’t you dance with me?”

“Uh, I don’t dance.” Her face felt like it was burning up, like it did every time he called her  _ love _ . She couldn’t afford blush, so maybe it would help her complexion or something. But no, she didn’t really _ want _ help with that when she just wanted to melt into the floor and not have to deal with this.

He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t, or you can’t?”

Oh, good. An out. “I can’t.” And to be fair, for all she knew, she couldn’t, having never done it before.

But that was the wrong answer, apparently. He stepped over and took her hand, gently pulling her to her feet. “Well, good news then, Swan.” He turned and, still holding her hand, guided her to the dance floor. “When it comes to dancing, there’s only one rule.” He put her hands on his shoulders and then wrapped his around her waist. “Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

She actually snorted at that, for a second, forgetting the embarrassment she was feeling. “Oh my god, Killian, it’s just, like … slow dancing. Not much to know about it.”

“Ah, so you  _ do _ know how to dance,” he teased.

She didn’t have a good response to that besides  _ shut up, _ and the last thing she wanted was to feel  _ more _ juvenile in front of Killian. Instead, she just smiled in what she  _ hoped _ was a mysterious fashion. He grinned back.

It was then that she heard snickers and whispers. Even with all the rest of the noise, from the music and different conversations, it was audible: the ridicule. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. She might not be as well-versed in pop culture as everyone else, but she  _ did _ know enough to be suspicious.

“You’re not gonna  _ Carrie _ me, are you?” she asked, freezing in place.

“What?” At least he looked genuinely confused.

“I’ve seen  _ Carrie,” _ she continued. “If you guys rigged the voting, and there’s a bucket of—”

“Emma, stop.” He rolled his eyes. “There’s nothing rigged. I just wanted to dance with you.”

“Oh  _ really? _ Because the giggling menagerie begs to differ.”

“I don’t give a damn what they think,” he said firmly. “I didn’t think you did either.”

She  _ should _ have been irritated because it sounded like it was supposed to be a challenge, like he was daring her to keep dancing with him. Which was stupid; she wasn’t going to take that kind of bait.

But even if he was just trying to manipulate her into dancing with him, he had a point. What  _ did _ she care?

But the laughter wasn’t stopping, and even if there wasn’t a bucket of pig’s blood up on the stage with her name on it, this was already humiliating enough.

“I guess I do,” she muttered, before breaking away from him and making a beeline for the exit.

She hid in a bathroom until the Smiths came by to get her, and to their credit, they took one look at her face and didn’t ask how the dance had been.

* * *

Emma hated  _ fitting in, _ but she’d do anything for Henry. And after skipping out on just about every other high school mom duty for the past four years, chaperoning Senior Prom was the least she could do. The other parents who were organizing the dance had been delighted; she was a solid ten or fifteen years younger than most of them, and they all thought she was  _ fascinating. _

It was a little weird having so little in common with all the other parents, especially since Henry was about to graduate and go off to college and she’d probably never have to deal with any of these people again. And even though things were different now—she was an object of interest instead of ridicule—she was still an  _ outsider. _

She was used to it by now. Being a teen mom fresh out of juvie definitely solidified all of her feelings of alienation she’d experienced in the system all those years. The support group for other juvenile offenders who were teen moms had been only moderately helpful, but only because it had been one of the conditions of employment at her first job, as well as one for the free daycare she was getting so she could  _ work _ said job. But she hadn’t actually felt connected to any of those other kids.

Work was just work; coworkers were just coworkers. It was the same as before—why bother with these people when you were just going to be gone soon anyway? But even after she found a steady job with consistent coworkers, her attitude remained unchanged. After all, she had Henry. Anything more would just make things overly complicated.

Which was her philosophy in her personal life, too. Not that she didn’t get any. When she was working evenings, especially now that Henry was old enough to be home alone by himself, if she caught her skip early, she’d let herself get picked up at a bar. Sure, she usually had to finish getting herself off in the bathroom, but whatever.

Henry seemed to think that something was wrong with her, but Henry grew up differently. Henry grew up with a mom who loved him, and while it sucked that he’d had a single working parent instead of two parents, or a parent who could stay home and take care of him, he’d otherwise gotten a pretty normal life. Emma had busted her ass making sure there was always enough money for him to have at least  _ one _ thing all his friends had (thank god for pre-owned gaming consoles), and that he could afford to join the after-school activities and sports he’d wanted to join.

So unlike her, Henry had friends. He had a girlfriend. He was  _ popular, _ actually. Which was why so many other parents were aware of the fact that his mom was single and in her mid-thirties: he had friends over often enough that they’d noticed and gone home and mentioned it at the dinner table or whatever.

She’d  _ tried _ to fit in, again, for Henry’s sake. But after helping to chaperone a field trip, where all the other parents—mostly moms—asked her weird personal questions and whispered about her, she was kind of done with the whole mess. It didn’t really help that the whispers were, “Poor thing! She’s done so well for herself though, and raised such a great kid,” instead of, “Can you believe her outfit? She might as well have come to school in a trash bag.” She was still tired of it.

But the Senior Prom—Henry’s Senior Prom! Oh god, she couldn’t believe he was graduating—needed more chaperones or it risked being canceled, and as much as she thought the whole “school formal dance” thing was bullshit, she had to make things normal for Henry. And so she pulled on her least scandalous honey-trap dress and heels she could stand around in for a whole night, curled her hair, did her make-up, and drove Henry over to Violet’s house.

He and his girlfriend and their friends were all taking a limo (Henry had paid for tux, Violet’s corsage, both their prom tickets, and his share of the limo himself, with the money he made from tutoring English—how did he turn out so well?), so Emma had to join all the other parents in taking photos. She got a few comments on her own outfit, ranging from the polite, “Oh, Ms. Swan, you look amazing!” to the slightly annoying, “Oh wow, if I were ten years younger, I’d want to wear that, too!” to the somewhat rude, “Hey, now, it’s not  _ your _ prom, little lady!”

“I’m chaperoning tonight,” she’d said flatly, glaring at the offending dad, who quickly swallowed and returned to taking photos of his kid and her girlfriend.

Once the kids were on their way, Emma got into her car, quickly fixed her eye make-up (damn tears), and drove to the hotel where the prom was being held.

Chaperoning was  _ dull,  _ mostly because she didn’t care. Yes, she could tell that that entire group of kids was drunk, but they weren’t causing a scene. No, those kids should probably not be making out on the dance floor, but if they tried to sneak off to the bathroom together, she’d put a stop to it then. Sure, it was a little inappropriate that those kids were flinging food at each other during dinner, but it wasn’t getting on the floor or anyone uninvolved in the food fight, so whatever.

It was just weird, standing off on the sidelines, drinking punch. Actually, it felt like it was nearly twenty years ago, when she’d been forced to go to that dance by her foster parents (the Smiths; wow, it had been a while since she’d thought about them). Here she was alone, drinking overly-sugary punch, counting down until eleven o’clock.

She chuckled as she realized she was even wearing the same color dress tonight. The similarities mostly ended there; this was a designer dress she bought new, and it fit her curves like a glove and showed off her cleavage (not  _ too _ much; she was supposed to be a role model tonight).

She was even wearing her hair the same way, even though she had a high-end curling iron now, and plenty of product to keep everything looking fresh the whole night. Same with her make-up, complete with foundation, blush, and eyeliner this time, all purchased from Sephora or Ulta. Her shoes actually fit and matched her dress, and her jewelry was still relatively inexpensive, but decent quality.

Her junior year self would probably find this very entertaining, that she could have all the trappings of the rich, privileged girls, but still be an outsider.

“I didn’t know you were coming tonight,” said a familiar voice.

Emma’s first thought was that she had somehow, just from the act of wearing a purple dress and attending a school dance, gone back in time. Because what the hell were the chances that  _ Killian Jones _ was here? She turned to look.

Oh god, it  _ was _ him.

He looked different, obviously, because it had been almost twenty years and neither one of them was a teenager anymore. He’d been lanky, even when he played football, but now he’d filled out considerably, and definitely in a good way. He had a scar on his cheek she didn’t remember (and she  _ would _ have remembered, because she used to stare at him when he’d tutored her, thinking about how cute he was instead of paying attention to what he was trying to teach her), and he had a short beard now as well.

And he was grinning at her, eyes sparkling, like he knew some kind of secret.

“Holy  _ shit,” _ was all she could reply.

He laughed. “I  _ knew _ it was you, Swan. I just knew it.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’d wager the same as you, love: pretending to give a damn about whether or not students are misbehaving.”

She snorted, pleased that she wasn’t the only chaperone who didn’t really care. But that didn’t answer her actual question. “No, I mean—”

“Swan, if you’d actually come to Back to School Night, you wouldn’t be asking this question.”

Her jaw dropped. “You’re a  _ teacher?” _

“Not just  _ a _ teacher,” he corrected. “I’m your son’s maths teacher.”

“Um, that’s not possible,” she said. “His math teacher—”

His math teacher this year had been Mr. Jones. She  _ knew _ that. Henry had mentioned him dozens of times. Mr. Jones with a British accent. Just like Killian Jones, who had been great at math.

Mr. Jones with …

She looked down and, sure enough, he had a prosthetic hand emerging from the left sleeve of his sports coat.

“Ah, yes,” he said, a little sadly. “That is one of my characteristics that tends to be the most memorable for students.”

“No, sorry.” She blushed and turned away. “I was just thinking about the other stuff Henry told me, and felt really stupid for not realizing it.”

“Why, because there is only one man in this universe with the surname Jones who happens to be a Brit?”

“And good at math, yep,” she jokingly confirmed. “Only one.”

“I admit, I wasn’t entirely sure it was you for a while,” he said. “Just heard things here and there about Henry’s mother, and how she was so young, and way too gorgeous for her own good. And Swan isn’t a typical surname.”

“‘Way too gorgeous for her own good?’” Her blush was getting worse. Almost twenty years and he  _ still _ had this effect on her.

“Aye.” She turned to find that he was smiling. “I doubt that Henry thought to pass along news of his maths teacher’s devilishly handsome good looks—another reason you shouldn’t have necessarily guessed my identity. Though I do wish you had come to Back to School Night.”

“I was busy. I’m in bail bonds, so I work a lot of evenings.”

“Of course. I didn’t mean to guilt-trip you over it.”

“Well, no, it’s just—I know I was supposed to go. I usually do, I just couldn’t this year.”

“Understandable.”

“So how long have you been teaching here?”

He chuckled. “I’m down an appendage since the last time we ever saw each other, and that’s the first question you ask?”

“You’re right, hold on. ‘Hi, Killian, I haven’t seen you in twenty years! What happened to your hand?’” They both laughed.

“Fair enough. But I expect you’re curious.”

She shrugged. “I’m guessing you joined the military after all?”

“That would be it,” he said, sighing. “It was long ago, at least. And it’s an effective teaching tool.”

“Oh?”

“Aye, I just let them know there are consequences for failing to turn in a homework assignment.”

They both laughed again. “Well, that  _ is _ effective.”

“Exactly. So, how have you fared these past twenty years?”

She knew the question he was asking. “Well,” she said, taking in a deep breath, “I’m thirty-six years old, and my son is about to graduate from high school, so …”

He nodded. “Well, I suppose it’s enough that we’re here now.”

“Yeah. Weird that it would be at another dance.”

“Very. I do hope that I don’t inadvertently cause you to flee the premises this time.”

“Shit.” She blushed and turned away.

“No, Emma, I didn’t mean it like that.” He touched her arm with his right hand. “I’ve felt no shortage of guilt for that. At the time, I was too wrapped up in my own head to understand the sort of discomfort you were experiencing, or why you might have been reluctant to spend time with me.”

“You don’t need to feel guilty for it,” she protested. “You were just trying to do a nice thing for a fucked up kid, and I thought you were playing a trick on me.”

He frowned. “You think I asked you to dance out of pity?”

“Well … yeah? Why else?”

“We spent an entire semester together,” he reminded her. “I was at your house twice a week, and while we did spent plenty of time talking about math, it wasn’t as though we didn’t get to know each other.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Swan, has it honestly never occurred to you that I  _ liked _ you?”

“You—like,  _ liked _ me, liked me?”

“Yes, like,  _ liked _ you, liked you,” he mimicked.

“But … you were the most popular guy in school!”

“And you were funny, engaging, fierce, and  _ very _ pretty,” he countered. “You have no idea how disappointed I was that your maths grades improved enough that my services were no longer needed.”

“So you  _ actually _ had wanted to dance with me? For real?”

“Yes!”

She laughed. “Well, can I just say it’s a miracle I actually got better at math in the first place? Because half the time you were tutoring me, I was too busy daydreaming about sucking face with you.”

“Well, this is just too absurd,” he said, chuckling. “You had a crush on  _ me?” _

“How is that more absurd than you having one on me?”

“Swan, you think far too little of yourself.”

It was then that she spotted a group of kids giggling and looking a bit shifty-eyed as they all moved out into one of the hallways outside the ballroom. “Ugh, I’ll be right back—I think those kids are about to do something stupid.”

“Perhaps I should help, too.”

“Nah, I’m in bail bonds, remember? Scaring the bejesus out of them will be pretty easy. This should be quick.”

And it was pretty quick. Once the kids had returned to the ballroom and the pot had been tossed (she contemplated keeping it, but it was super dry and looked like shit), she went back to where she’d left Killian.

God, it was weird. What were the chances they would meet again after almost two decades? And at another school dance? Ugh, and what were the chances that he would be even  _ more _ attractive and all of her old feelings for him would resurface like this?

She felt a little sick when he wasn’t where he’d been when she’d left. Maybe he was getting his revenge by ditching her the way she’d ditched him?

No, there he was—he was coming back in her direction. “Sorry about that, love. How did things go with that gaggle of ne’er-do-wells?”

She snickered at his choice of language. “Fine. They won’t be getting high tonight, that’s for sure.”

“Did you confiscate it?” he asked, eyes lighting up momentarily before he shook his head. “No, no, bad form, bad form. I’m a teacher.”

“I thought about it.”

“Ah, I take it that it wasn’t any good?” She shook her head. “That’s too bad.”

“Yeah, oh well. Guess our night won’t get any crazier.”

“I suppose we should be grateful for that. Finding each other after nearly two decades feels crazy enough.”

She felt a weird flutter at that. The way he said it, maybe, like it was some ridiculous romantic comedy  _ thing _ that meant something to him. But knowing that the unattainable guy she’d had a crush on had been crushing on her right back? And that, twenty years later, he still seemed just as great?

The song changed, from some ridiculous dubstep to something that sounded straight out of the fifties that sounded vaguely familiar. “What is this song?” she asked. “I feel like I’ve heard it before.”

“Obscure band from the UK,” he explained.

“Ah.” She frowned. “Wait.”  _ That _ sounded familiar. She glanced at him suspiciously. “Isn’t this … the same song?”

“That we danced to? Aye.”

She snorted. “What are the chances that the same obscure song would play at a school dance twenty years apart?”

“Well, I do teach statistics,” he mused. “I’d say rather unlikely.”

It dawned on her. “Oh god, you  _ requested _ it.”

“Very astute, Swan.”

“They  _ had _ this?”

He blushed. “Ah, no. I had to bribe them to download it. I wasn’t as prepared as I was twenty years ago.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, back then I had to bring it on a disc for them.”

“Wow. I’m impressed.”

“Are you impressed enough to honor me with a dance?”

She froze. On the one hand, she  _ was _ impressed enough. And truth be told, she wanted to. But … “I can’t,” she said.

“You can’t, or you don’t?” he asked slyly.

“Killian,” she said seriously. “We’re chaperones.”

“Aye, and there’s no rule stating that chaperones can’t abandon their duties momentarily to use the restroom or have a chat or dance for a song.” He held out his hand. “Come now, Swan. You know what the only rule about dancing is.”

She did. Twenty years later, and she still remembered. She gently placed her hand in his, and he grinned widely before leading her to the dance floor.

It was pretty similar to Homecoming, although instead of placing both hands on her waist, he took her right hand in his prosthetic. In general, the position felt more natural, less fraught with tension and meaning, than the one they’d been in way back when.

Probably because for all that it was similar, it really  _ wasn’t. _ She wasn’t Emma Swan, lost and unloved, alone against the world, skeptical of the most popular boy in school’s intentions. She was Emma Swan, proud mother, expert at reading people, comfortable in her own skin.

Still, she felt her figurative hackles raise when she heard whispering. And of  _ course _ people were noticing—one of the math teachers was dancing with another chaperone. Or maybe they recognized her as Henry Swan’s mom and thought it was extra funny. A quick glance confirmed that it wasn’t just students who’d noticed; other chaperones were elbowing each other and pointing in her direction.

“The giggling menagerie is back,” she mumbled unhappily.

“I don’t give a damn what they think,” Killian replied firmly. She felt his grip on her waist tighten, anticipating her reaction.

She closed her eyes, letting herself just feel the moment, just for a second. Swaying to the music, with Killian’s arms around her, just liked she’d dreamt of for months and months in high school. A moment from the past that had been tainted by her own paranoia, mistrust, and insecurities.

She fortified herself as she opened her eyes and stared into Killian’s.

“I don’t either.”

But just in case Henry was watching, she waited until the night was over, and no one else was around, to kiss him.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this story! I'd love to hear what you think!


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